The Misfits
by hoarfrost-sn
Summary: Jackson Overland runs away from home to join The Misfits, a freak circus. A blonde with 70 ft hair, a scientist training experimental lizards, and an archer with the face of a bear were the least of his worries. But in spite of the happy atmosphere, a darker side takes place behind the covers of it all: A girl with the power of snow. And he is left bewitched by her beauty. Jelsa!AU
1. Chapter I

**hi! this story was posted ages ago with only two chapters, so now i decided to rewrite it. hopefully, it's better this time. sorry for the inconvenience. also, this story will contain darker themes but nothing explicit, i assure you. enjoy your read. r&amp;r!**

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Chapter I - I am a Misfit

Jackson Overland is many things.

He is a fun boy at his first year of college who never does any of his homework. He's a troublemaker at Burgess, his hometown, always leaving mischief along his wake. He has a talent for magic tricks, especially when it involves ice and snow. He loves to let snowflakes dance along his fingertips and in a blink of an eye, it would vanish without a trace. Overall, he is a loving older brother who looks after his little sister, Emma. Even though she is crippled and paralyzed with a crestfallen illness, his magic has always left her in bewilderment and satisfaction, no matter the odds that life throws at them.

But he is not a runaway.

Not until now.

Jackson clenched his fists, balling in nervousness as he exhaled and watched the breath of his exhalation dissolve into the evening air. His cerulean eyes followed up the perched red and white-stripped tent, only kept standing by a few wires and weak pillars that had appeared in the city overnight. It was everything he had imagined for a circus, the multi-colored stripped tents, the mini stalls scattered by the entrance, thr insanely bright lights that lit their trails, the freaks that roamed the ground with their freaky smiles he found uninviting at all, unlike some people seemed to like it.

He caught his breath once a clown balancing on top of a 7-foot rubber ball came rolling across his way while honking a yellow horn loudly, jumping out of the way in reflex, and mostly out of being startled by it. A few passing people bumped behind him, hitting his back with elbows and broad shoulders as people began pouring in inside the insanely large tent where the main event was about to take place. He got caught up in the jostling crowd between eerie laughs, cacophony of noises, rude people that kept passing him without a care, he got pushed to the ground, bottom first.

"Get movin', kid!" an old man spat at his face as he gave his ticket out to the bouncer, giving him a malicious look of devoid. "If ya ain't watching the show then get outta the way!"

Before he could muster up a cocky reply or much less register what was happening, his pants were soaked in grimy mud, the ground wet after last night's storm. The smell of mud and popcorns then hit his senses, reminding him of what sort of animal ground he was in. He looked up, squinting up into the night sky with a few lanterns hung at every corner as the only source of light showed droves of people drawing a line, hustling and scuttling. Passing out their tickets as they got to the entrance, some chatting, bickering, and bellowing in laughter in excitement. Happy faces. Happy people. Happy.

He felt sick.

Disgusted of such shameful people.

There was an unfamiliar clench in his stomach, his guts and his organs twisting knots after knots into each other until they've formed the feeling of loathing the size of a football in his insides. His face had distorted into a scowl, the sides of his lips dipping into a deep frown of distaste.

How come? Of course, they're here to watch freaks balance knives on the tip of their tongues without getting scathed in the slightest, swallow fire as they get their organs pummeled with mallets. Balance off invisible strings as they dance with sickening tutus showing off frilly underwear. Laugh at bearded ladies who got whipped for declining to eat bunches of bananas shoved in their faces. Cackle as they watch tortured lions and tigers jump into rings ablaze with fire, headed by none other than an evil ringmaster.

But he is no different from them.

Or so he believes.

Jackson got up with a shake of his head, brushed the dirt off his mud-stained pants, pushing down the revolting feeling in his stomach that kept bugging him all day and had been screaming at him to turn back now while he still had a chance, but ignored it. He made his way through the back of the tent, passing by little stores selling luscious apples dipped in chocolate, deep-fried burritos, popcorns oozing with butter, hotdogs cooked just the right way he wanted it—

His stomach growled.

He stopped momentarily to pat his stomach above the belt, sighing as he hadn't eaten in the last two, three days? He couldn't even remember. The disgust was suddenly replaced with hunger, and he felt like someone had punched a huge hole in his belly and it was a void to be filled. All he knew now was that he was absolutely ravenous and in need of food, but after a moment of being at war with himself, he brushed the thoughts away as he got behind the tent, willing his feet to move one after another and away from the tempting food stalls. He had far more important things to tend to than his own personal needs, he came to a conclusion with. And other than that, he didn't have any money anyway.

When he got to the back, two guards loomed over an opening, one at each side, standing with ramrod straight spines and unfazed watchful looks with guards up and he had guessed he found the jackpot to where the big boss was residing. He uttered a short prayer to whatever listening entity to quell his sarcasm and help him convince these two scary looking men to let him in and not throw him out the grounds before he could even introduce himself.

"Hello," he greeted smoothly, casually walking up to the one with a goatee, a large man with brown hair and gold-rimmed sunglasses. "May I interest you with the latest model of facial cream that would help with all those wrinkles at your forehead?"

The man didn't budge at the slightest. Neither did his partner.

"And all that acne," he pressed, pretending to squint up to take a better look at the man's face through the darkness. "Look at that. They're like baby daisies waiting to blossom. And it's not pretty with what they leave on your face, like craters. Gross."

The one opposite from them chuckled, and the man he was humoring was starting to get irate.

"Get lost," the man glowered, still looking straightforward and into nothingness. Jackson clicked his tongue.

"Telling ya, man," he shook his head jokingly. "This is a chance of a lifetime. I only come where the wind blows."

"And the wind is blowing south. Now get out before I kick you out this place myself."

He squabbled with the guards surrounding the back for the next five minutes that passed, forbidding him to burst into where he believes the manager resided thinking he was a petty salesman that wanted to sell facial cream—a tall lean man with hair ablaze that reminded Jackson of the sun suddenly emerged from the gap of the tent. White suit spick and span, probably fresh from the dryers and ironed, gold linings at the ends of his cuffs and collar, with a red vest under his attire.

"What is up with all the ruckus?" the man scowled, looking dreadfully vexed and dead tired, cold eyes falling and finally fixing at the brown haired boy. Jackson, who was now resisting against the bodyguards that hooked their arms under his armpits, froze. He seemingly numbed at the glare of the older man, his breath halted into a pause.

He had undeniably amazing sideburns Jackson respected him for growing, surely it must've been hard to let them grow into such a fascinating bush along his jaw (the very first thing he noticed). But he also had this urge to wax it off himself, or maybe put duct tape over it and peel it off as fast as he could. Like he was doing him a favor to get off such an eyesore along his face, but he held back his weird urges as he swallowed at the forming lump in his throat that was the size of a golf ball.

"I am Jackson Overland," he announced, voice trembling as he nudged away from the guards clutches, giving them his own set of menacing glares. He cleared his throat as he spoke again, turning forward to the man in front of him. "And I want to be a part of your… circus. Freak show. Or whatever you call it."

All he got was a chuckle of a reply, a laugh almost evil that shot shivers run up and down his spine.

"Young man, you are far too young for this. Go and work at McDonalds instead, you have far more potential over there," the man with neatly jelled hair turned away from him, waving away like he'd said the silliest thing. "Take him away, boys."

The man with a goatee was more than happy to oblige, but he shoved him away.

"Wait!"

Jackson struggled to break free from the iron fists and flung one arm out, a set of blue and white like auras under the stars shot from his sleeves and in a blink of an eye, the whole covers beneath the tent were now covered in snow.

It's snowing.

His doing. All his.

The man stopped in his tracks in bewilderment, jaw loosening and his eyes grew wide at the sight that surrounded him. And so did the two guards, letting Jackson ease away from their grip and he smirked smugly at them before turning back to the redhead. The man opened his palms to catch a snowflake in hand, screwing his eyes at it and he let it dance and teeter around his gloved hand, drinking in the fresh feeling of powder snow beneath his feet and raw coldness in his touch before crushing it in his palms.

Slowly, he turned back to Jackson. "…Do you know what you are doing?"

"Yes," Jackson answered with no hesitation.

"Obviously, you have run away from home. Or something, correct?" the man turned, chin up as he stomped towards Jackson that created a trail of footprints in the light snow, grabbing his chin roughly in his hands. He winced in from the abruptness, maybe mistaken for pain.

"I didn't run away," he insisted, refusing to look the man in the eye.

"Give me a valid reason why should I accept a filthy mutt like you into my circus?"

This is the hidden truth behind the circus, he concluded.

Behind painted smiles of playful clowns that kept people laughing were deep frowns that scarred into their very souls by morose sadness. Behind gymnasts who balanced on their tiptoes on top of thin strings were invisible wires that kept them stable from falling to an uncertain accident. Behind grand monsters roaring in thunder were scratches and scars from continuous mauling from abusive practice. And other sick looking freakazoids like people with three legs, bearded ladies, camel backs, ostrich feet—he couldn't count them all, were nothing but artificiality that was only meant to be seen on stage.

All Jackson could think, is that he's doing this for _Emma_. And for Emma alone. And if it meant saving Emma's life he would sacrifice his very soul to keep his beloved sister alive, he knew this truth.

And so he nodded.

"Because I am a Misfit."

The man's glossed lips turned into a coy smile before his touch softened and let go of his face, Jackson immediately grabbed his chin to smooth his poor jaw, feeling the bite of short fingernails dig into his skin instantly. The other man moved to rub his gloved hand over his chin and tapped, eyes squinting in mischief at the young boy, seemingly amused.

"Good answer," the man nodded in approval. "But I still must discuss this to the Nightmare King. I can't just approve of letting a petty child run around my circus."

"Hans," another man promptly emerged from beneath the covers. A far more taller man, bombarded with a fairly manly beard and he was shirtless, him alone standing behind the dark covers scared the wits out of Jackson. Only cloaked in bears skin that covered his shoulders, revealing a rough physique with seemingly scratches, scars marked made by a—bear?

Jackson's eyes widened as it took seconds for it to sink in. The man gained his scars from wrestling the bear he now wore as a cloak, like a trophy he proudly strut in front of anyone to shove a little fear in their hearts.

"You know he doesn't like it when you say _your_ circus," the man reminded in a gruff voice.

"Pish posh, Mordu," the redheaded man—Hans waved his hand over the bearded barbarian he now knew was named as Mordu. "He'll never know."

"He does," Mordu swallowed into a whisper. His eyes then flicked everywhere warily, as if they were being watched. As if he was… scared of this _he_. Whoever _he_ is. Jackson couldn't believe he was watching a grown up quiver in fear, it was the oddest thing he had ever encountered. "He knows everything, Prince Hans. Everything. He's watching…"

Hans' left eyes twitched, marking his evident fear of threat. He wasn't so good in hiding his fear, as Jackson saw how his voice trembled as he patted Mordu on the shoulder. "Shut it," he snapped before turning back to Jackson. "First, I have a show to run. And ah, Jackson? I must discuss this first with the Nightmare King. Only he sees potential in freaks like you. I am only a messenger. I will inform you as soon as possible if he agrees of your presence."

Hans immediately turned back, pulling a whip that hung from his belt, snapping it on the dirt ground in trial. His instant snow was starting to dissolve quickly in the dark. He suddenly turned back, Mordu still standing still in his post.

"Ah, and Mister Jackson. I humbly apologize, I am Hans Isles. The Lost Prince, as some may call me. And I am the ringmaster of this circus. Granted the power by the Nightmare King himself," he said as he took a saucy bow. "And I invite you to watch my show for tonight, have a sneak peak of what you are heading for. What beauties you will encounter in our lively show," he produced a golden ticket, waving it in the air before throwing it in Jackson's way, catching it by reflex. "Use it, it's the best seat in show. Mordu please kindly escort the young man to his seat."

Hans turned back, putting up the covers as he hunched over to get back to start the show—

"Wait!" Jackson called out once more.

"What?" Hans raised an eyebrow as a response.

"Who is this…" he hesitated, wondering if saying the very name of this _he_ would call out to him, or much less, if _he_ was watching _him_ right now. The thought of it scared him. "This Nightmare King?"

Hans looked back, eyes empty and striking at the young man silently cursing him of his curiosity and inquisitive character, finally giving in with a tired sigh.

"Young man, he does not like to be talked behind his back. But do not waver, you shall meet him soon enough. But for now just sit back and enjoy the show."

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**feedback suffices my occasional motivational starvation. thanks for reading, hope it wasn't as bad as i think it is. till the next chapter!**

_**May the Fortress be with you!**_


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II: The Show

Jackson entered the grand tent that was over the size of a coliseum, or at least how he'd envisioned a coliseum would look like.

His mind wasn't really working too well that day. His stomach's walls were grinding against each other savagely, and he couldn't exactly remember the last time he had a decent meal ever since he was on the road tailing the popular traveling circus.

Jackson briefly wondered if it was too late to go back and grab himself a hotdog or two before the show even started, tempted by the evil spectators he was passing who had popcorns and beef jerky's in their hands, wanting to take a bite out of their food for his own.

But before he could even make a peep, Mordu behind him gave him a rough shove, forcing him to continue forward. "Move it, kid."

"I'm moving, I'm moving," Jackson spat back, eyes rolling as he dodged some beer-bellied father's leg. "I'm moving, ya Sasquatch," he mumbled mockingly after.

"Whaddya call me?!"

"Nothing," he squeaked. Better not get into any fight now, right? Especially not with a wrestler physique resembling Bigfoot.

When he ununcumberdly looked back in front of him, he finally took notice of the tiniest details.

The sizable red and white tent were filled with seats that descended down in a slant, and the ongoing noise that was making his head spin came from the crowds of families and other sad people who've already found their seats for the show.

The huge tent protected them all from the sweltering heat and blazing sun, the huge dome held up by poles tightly secured into cords, attached to pegs buried deep into the ground. Jackson hoped he wouldn't be put on tent duty. It seemed like too much work.

"Over there," Mordu motioned behind him, pointing to the seat nearest to the rostrum and the caged lions.

Jackson obediently went.

As he sat, he realized Hans was right. He approved of his seat. It really _is_ the best seat in the whole place.

Being seated in the very front of all the rows, he could feel the breath of the caged lions in front of him ghost over his face, he could view the whole crowd from one look from above. He felt a little bad for the spectators that were seated behind poles, poking their heads out to get a view of what was in front of them. Red and blue lights flashed all over as the main lights fell darker by the minute, the crowd jeering in anticipation of what's in store for them.

Eventually more empty seats were filled in until it was all preoccupied in sight, and the darkness began to descend like a cryptic shadow falling before them all and enveloping them in its totality of absence from any light. A thrilling orchestra of instruments began to play in the background.

_"Ladies and gentlemen."_

A voice Jackson identified that was Hans boomed throughout the entire location, echoing through and through. Effectively silencing any other inappropriate sound under the fabric of the tent, as if everyone in the entire room was hanging onto every fluently spilled word out of Hans' mouth.

Jackson crossed his arms over his chest.

_"We would gladly bring to you that the show will now start in a few moments no less. Please be informed that flash photography, videos or any sort of digital use to expose our performers is strictly forbidden."_

Hans ranted on some more about the do's and don'ts during the show, and through it all Jackson just willed his stomach to stop growling at him to snatch the barbecue off of the guy's hands who was sitting right next to him. He gave his own stomach a disciplining jab.

Damn it. He's _really_ hungry.

With after what seemed like forever, Hans finally spoke the words he's been beaning to hear: "_Sit back now! Relax, for the show is underway! Here you will see many that will catch your eye, freaks that will leave you in bewilderment, talents surpassing your imaginations!"_

A drumroll accompanied his announcement that rolled along for the growing suspense, everyone still with excitement. Children's eyes flicking as thrilling chills ran up and down their spines that even Jackson felt himself hold his breath.

_"Make way for… The Misfits!"_

The crowd boomed in deafening cheers as the freak show members finally emerged from the dark alleys, one freak after another stepping into the limelight, with an upbeat and overly lively music resonating throughout.

Jackson, too, would be just as excited if only Emma was here. Knowing how she'd tug adorably on his sleeves and happily point at the funny looking oddballs she still considered as people. Of course, she had a heart of gold.

How he wished she wasn't cursed of such a grievous disease.

Jackson's eyes snapped at the cast, stopping himself before his thoughts and memories consumed his attention away from the performers.

Each of them strode with their chins held high, the female members giving faux delicately measured waves to the audience. To which they responded with matching enthusiasm, wildly clapping their hands and cheering, though Jackson found it disgusting when some of them pointed and giggled at the most bizarre looking ones, even having the guts to smack their knees as they laughed at them.

Jackson glared at some of them in particular, finding it crude and revolting at how an acne-faced man hollered openly at them. What would people expect from a freak circus? Monkeys in suits? At least show a little more dignity in public.

Jackson shook his head disapprovingly and diverted his attention back to the show.

He saw the set of freaks he'd bellied the thought of expecting most: Clowns juggling knives, ballerinas with three—four legs, all followed Hans from behind as they emerged. Hans bowed endearingly, earning another cry of excitement from the crowd. Mostly from the female viewers who found his gallant poise rather charming in their tastes. Maybe his overly clean cut look and suit really swayed with the ladies when Jackson stuck a tongue out in disgust once he saw one woman leaned and cheered so hard in Hans' name that nearly fell off her seat when she did so.

_Rabid fan girls,_ Jackson thought as he looked at all of them with squinted eyes.

The bearded ladies hustled to one corner, shyly giving practiced bows and model like waves to the crowd. One of the bearded ladies dressed in a heavy pink Victorian dress caught his eye, batting her overly long lashes towards him and winking at his direction. Jackson stomached the chemicals making their way up his throat and offered back a forced smile with a twitching eye.

_No, just no,_ Jackson thought to himself, appalled.

He cocked his head to the other side direction. Until his eyes fell on a spritely blonde bouncing about across the sandy earth.

Jackson's first thought about her was that she was cute; adorable even. With her big emerald precious eyes and cute rosy flowing dress. An oncoming smile on his face quickly morphed into a look of confusion when he realized what on earth she was using as a jump rope.

_Hair._

_Her own hair._

_She has 70-feet hair,_ Jackson thought in shock with his calculation.

She was skipping around the circus with the longest hair Jackson has ever seen in his entire life. He almost choked on his own spit when he realized this. Though the rest of her looked completely normal, she had freakishly long, _long_ hair.

She was human from head to toe, green eyes and a cute nose with golden hair that reminded him of hay he used to sleep in when he ran away from home. She was actually normal, well, except for her hair.

His eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head as he stared after the girl who bounded away, still jumping giddily. He was awestruck, completely new to this charade.

Huh, that's a first, Jackson thought to himself again. A new emotion began knock at his chest, an emotion he'd been trying to evade: excitement.

But he'd just reasoned to himself that it was inevitable, especially in a place that specialized in riling up the crowd. He didn't want to admit it, but his interest was now definitely piqued.

Jackson's eyes flicked back around the odd cast, trying to memorize all of them since one day he'd be joining them in their acts as well. Finding someone what was suitable to call as a colleague or a friend without wincing every four seconds of looking at them.

The show started soon enough.

The first act consisted of the regulars, the ballerinas balancing on top of invisible strings and clowns juggling knives and swallowing fire at the very least. Jackson wasn't so impressed, yet he still kept his eyes peered for the acts. It was the usual he had expected the most, except for the next one.

A boy.

His eyes roved through the set of talents, his eyes fell in an oddball of the group. When in their situation, someone who looked weirdly normal.

A normal looking boy. Man? He was tall and lean, and he was wearing a lab coat that made him look kind of smart. Like a scientist in chemical laboratories testing out new drugs. He caught Jackson's attention for the way he looked, drastically dressed in a simple geek shirt and a lab coat. As if he wasn't part of the act at all. His hair in a haphazard mess, few braids sticking out of its wavy length.

Lab Coat Freak stepped into the light and the brushed long bangs out of his face as he fiddled with his fingers and he awaited his part, green eyes darting to and fro from the crowd. Jackson squinted his eyes at him to get a better look… it looked like he was talking to someone, or _something_ beneath his coat as he continued to fidget.

His nervousness felt thundering unlike the last confident performers, and Jackson pitied the poor guy. He wanted him to have a little more faith in himself.

"Thank you, darlings!" Hans bellowed as he gestured for the three-legged ballerinas to exit the stage, the ladies giggling in his adulation as they disappeared behind the dark. "And now, behold! The meanest, maddest scientist you will ever see in your life! Just the sound of his very name shall leave you thundering in fear! Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, The Dragon Whisperer and his… _dragons_!"

Wait.

Did he say dragons?

Jackson bent over his seat as his watched, now amused.

"Go, go, go!" the freckled boy mouthed, but was too faint for Jackson to actually hear. He stretched his lab coat open, and a form of black wiggled in its pockets. The crowd grew still.

A head of a lizard popped out of his pockets as it followed a tired sigh and finally opened its eyes.

The boy quickly drew something from his pockets and threw it into the air, a smelly looking fish.

It did two somersaults in the air, Jackson could see green slime oozing out its head.

Just before the stinking fish could land, a black figure caught it mid-air.

Fair enough, it was a dragon.

A _dragon_.

And a very small one at that.

It seemed small enough for Jackson to tuck it in his arms and runaway with it. Jet-black scales covered its entire body, and a small wing helped it fly off and carry itself with the fish in between its mouth. It was less fierce looking than Jackson had expected, like snarling teeth, breathing scorching fire, and at least expecting it having the size of a castle at the very least. And though he was expecting a ferocious snarl and slit mean eyes, it had the eyes of a kitten that made his heart a mess of warmth that he found it rather adorable.

Jackson frowned in disappointment. But in the far corners of his mind he was impressed to see a mythical creature within these very tents one day he would call home.

The people exchanged glances in silence. The young scientist's very swallow was heard in the ringing silence as the dragon landed on his limping shoulder, visibly tired with it's short flight with the dead fish still between it's teeth, it's tiny wings retracting back.

They were in the very word he feared… unimpressed.

Jackson noticed Hans shoot a death glare at the dorky looking scientist. He knew a bad reaction from the crowd would result for a bad news for him. And he didn't want to know what sort of torture he would have to face if he brought bad feedback. He felt a little sorry for the poor guy.

He cupped his hands together and clapped, making it louder as it resounded throughout the tent. Hans, the scientist, and everyone else looked over to Jackson who had started a clapping fiasco out of impression from such a one of a kind act. After all, you don't get to see a dragon every now and then, right?

Slowly, the crowd played along in Jackson's lead. Clapping slowly until people erupted in cheers of such a mystifying creature.

Hans bowed, and so did the dragon tamer. Jackson saw a smile inch over the lab freak's lips, and a glint of a silent thank you shimmering in his eyes when he looked up at him.

"Thank you, Hiccup," Hans gestured for the lab frea—Hiccup to move to the sides. Jackson saw his pet dragon abstained from eating its prized fish, playing it along its rigid claws. "Now, his very partner in crime! Witness as fear cripple your very spine as this wild beast takes the stage… folks, make some noise for the one and only, Merida DunBroch!"

The grounds cleared out again, the performance moving quickly, workers pulling back lions and tigers to the sides, and even Hans and Hiccup stepped back for the next act. Targets were placed around the grounds, along with silver hoops lined from the biggest growing narrower as it went on were displayed by the crew.

Jackson's face distorted into a quizzical look as he squinted his eyes down the entrance to the stadium. A black figure loomed over the entrance.

Taupe boots clucked at soiled grounds, a hooded stranger stepping into the limelight with her head down. She ripped the hood off her head and let it fall to the ground after her dramatic entrance.

The crowd gasped.

Jackson's eyes slowly grew wider in realization. His mouth agape, shock and disbelief clearly written all over the incoherent emotion on his face.

Wild curls ablaze erupted from beneath the cape as she stripped it off her head. Eyes striking in a deep color of blue, the very eyes of a bear that struck fear in the hearts of men. Thick eyebrows fleeced in crisp red, just like her hair. Fangs bore from the drawn frown on her face, and her nose was of a bear's, dipped in the color of deep licorice.

Most of her features were human, except for her teeth, nose and having a few scattered hair along her face and fingers protruding sharp fingernails, making Jackson wonder if she was bushy anywhere else beneath her cape.

She pulled an arrow from behind and her bow before announcing in thick Scottish language: "I am Merida, and I shall be of yer entertainment for the night."

Jackson leaned on his seat, curious as he weighed himself on his knees by his elbows. Things kept getting weirder and weirder by the moment, though he found it fascinating at the same time. He would be lying if he said he wasn't hooked at the least for each odd character that came after the next.

Merida strut in a stance of honor, pulling back the arrow from the strings of her bow and releasing it when she took aim. With a _clunk_, it hit bull's-eye on the target with very few effort.

One after another, she increased her pace.

She kept hitting red after red as she moved, the targets growing narrower by the moment as she steadfastly hit each and everyone of it. Some of the audience clapped, some wooed, and Jackson? He watched carefully.

Her fingernails looked like it was long and fierce enough to rip off a man's throat, but it was no hindrance to her as she continued to strike every target, one after another without fail nor a fraction of second to doubt herself.

And when she got to the final board, she hit the target once more. And with an arrow pierced deep into the target, she drew out another arrow, narrowed her eyes as she took aim, the crowd silenced in awe, and she slowly let her fingertips loose on her aim.

Jackson could see how engrossed she was in her own little world of archery, a growing respect for her bubbling in his chest. And then slowly, the sound of wood against wood earning a friction the arrow ripped through the other, splitting it apart, the crowd clamored in cheers. Despite her face that she had as a curse of monstrosity, her lips curved into a smile as she took a beguiling bow.

Jackson got up from his seat and clapped madly along with the crowd, glad of her performance.

Hans' gloved hands clapped along before he walked behind her and put a hand on her shoulder, pressing over her shoulder blades.

"Thank you, my dear."

"I told ya before not te call me that," the redhead snapped as she slung her bow behind her again. Hans shrugged as she scoffed off.

"Anyway," Hans cleared his throat as he spoke, coughing into one cupped hand. "We shall take a little break, the next show is buzzing with anticipation to meet our new guests. They're at the back, getting ready right now. So, if you will ever be so patient, please bear with the mild pause."

Hans' voice grew nothing more into mumbles when Mordu tapped on Jackson's shoulders.

"He's waiting."

"Who?" Jackson blinked, a bit taken back after a show. Getting a little drawn to the acts, he had sat back but was too preoccupied with what was happening in front of him to remember that Mordu was behind him all along.

"The Nightmare King," Mordu said, nearly into a whisper, the crowd around them not knowing what they were talking about.

"He… wants to see me?"

"Yes," the built man affirmed. "_Now_."

Jackson knew better not to argue with such a scary looking man, normally he'd scoff his elders off, bark, or tease them to make him move his butt off his seat. But this time, he actually agreed without a second thought. After all, he didn't want to get in bad terms with his boss before he could even start.

He felt a little bad that he had to go, he might not even come back in time to finish the wild antics of the freaks. But he shrugged the feeling off as he got up, bunched his hands into the pockets of his drawstring hoodie as he thought that he was one day going to be a part of their acts, so he shouldn't feel so down about it.

He actually enjoyed it, really.

Especially the cute blonde jumping around the scenes, the funny looking dork with a lizard of an excuse of a dragon, and the badass archer with the face of a bear.

He already knew those he was going to mingle with when he gets to be a part of team.

As he trudged up the stairs, Mordu following behind, he stopped in his tracks when it a small snowflake decidedly settled at his bleached nose. He scrunched his nose up to its cool contact sending through his skin, and his eyes flew wide as saucers when he realized what it was.

Snow.

He turned back with a perplexed look, heart caught in his throat.

He looked back at the performing stage, but there was nothing there. He whipped his head skyward, and there was no source of where the magic of snow in the middle of summer came from.

"Where's this coming from?" he questioned. Mordue squinted his eyes at him.

"Dunno. T'Place always been able to produce these babies as long as I could remember. Doesn't matter now though," he shoved at his shoulders. "Get movin'."

But Jackson was too baffled to budge out of his stance. There was something about the falling snow that made the scary dome a little more… magical. "You can't just produce snow out of nowhere! It has to have a source!"

Mordu sighed loudly, the interval music in the background not loud enough to drown out his pissed sound. "Look, kid. No time to give me an eloquent speech or fact about snow."

The silver haired boy was just about to shoot back a retort until the corner of his eyes caught something unlikely.

Somewhere in the depths of the darkness of the enigmatic carny, behind the openings where the freaks emerge and disappear was a figure hidden in its blackness. All he could see from the distance between them and the sporadic appearances of clowns balancing on top of huge plastic balls were two slim arms lifted high in the air, moving around methodically and gracefully as if the feminine hands were controlling something.

Jackson squinted his eyes towards where he was seeing this, and suddenly Mordu's voice and everything else around him got drowned away by his inquisitiveness.

The small dainty hands, from where he stood, he saw its color pale and almost alabaster even if the hidden puppeteer was in the dark. He narrowed his eyes some more until he caught color of two deep-set colors of eyes.

They were like orbs of aquamarine treasures, precious like jewelry. And as beautiful as they were in contrast to the dark, Jackson noticed a sorrowful emotion in them; sadness.

Before he could wrap his head around the mystery behind the unclosed curtains though figuring it was a girl for how feminine the hands were, Mordu was already dragging him away by the arm, breaking him out of his mild stupor. His head snapped back towards the muscle man, and before he could move his lips to make a comment about the mysterious person hidden from the people's sights, he shut his mouth.

The way Mordu reacted earlier was honesty; he didn't know where the snow was coming from, or any other mystery in the circus. And Jackson had somehow figured that the person he couldn't identify the face was responsible for it, but how come? How could someone control ice and snow? How come no one seems to notice this stranger when the works she makes are so enthralling?

And moreover, how could he get accepted into a freak show that already has another ice magician?

He looked back over his shoulder, and saw the figure finally step away from the darkness, until nothing but a small flurry of frozen crystals were left in her wake, never being able to see her face.

Remembering the wash of melancholy in those sad eyes and the overwhelming control over the cold element has Jackson left in putty of confusion, suddenly unsure if he should feel sorry or to feel jealous. He caught a tiny snowflake falling towards him and cupped it in his hands.

Maybe he felt both.

* * *

**a/n: **ta-da! finally! an update. XD you guys probably want to kill me now after taking so long to update. gah, i've been a bit busy lately but i've also been procrastinating. XD i'm so sorry. anyways, i'm back in the jelsa fandom! it's been a while. i think i will try to write more chapters in advance for this story before i update again, just to be ready. :) this chapter is also completely not proofread, so all mistakes are mine. i also pretty much wrote this half-asleep, because i wanted to finally make an update so... ^^;

also, massive thank you to **windstruck07** for the amazing artwork for this story which is now this story's cover art! you can check it whole if you'd like, i've put the link for it in my profile.

again also, i don't think some of my jelsa readers know this but i was _Secretly a Duck_ before, changed my name to hoarfrost-sn. hi again!

favorites, follows, and reviews are most appreciated. tell me what you think of this new update, and hopefully, i'll be able to update sooner next time. till next time!

_may the fortress be with you!_


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